


On His knees before Him

by Verabird



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Blindfolds, Blowjobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 19:36:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7119613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verabird/pseuds/Verabird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mayor steals away into the night once a week and naturally Javert finds this suspicious. So he follows him, only to find that the man he has come to know as Valjean is sneaking off to a basement out of town where he can don a blindfold and suck several anonymous cocks. Javert would be a fool not to take the opportunity to join in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On His knees before Him

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Esteliel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/gifts), [ellamason](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellamason/gifts).



> I usurped a tumblr post and knocked this out for barricade day. In an ideal world it would be longer but heigh ho.

His suspicions had been roused months before, yet he had not acted, and this passive inaction had caused discomfort in Javert. For Inspector Javert was not usually a passive man, far from it, and so watching the mayor disappear from his mairie on a weekly basis only to return a few hours later accompanied with a satiated look of contentment and to have not done anything to investigate was causing Javert considerable distress.

Javert was patient to an incredible degree, so he had waited several weeks to confirm his thoughts, but sure enough the pattern was the same. Thursday afternoon and the mayor would retire to his quarters and would charmingly refuse visitation, and once Thursday evening arrived he would slip away out the back into the night.

Positioned between the narrow gap of two cobbled walls and hidden behind a pile of crates, Javert watched and took note of the precise time until he could match the mayor's movements exactly. After he was completely certain of his assumptions he decided he had enough evidence to trail the mayor.

The police inspector of a small town had no business following a high-ranking official, but Javert had just dispatched a letter of great importance to Paris, and its contents would no doubt justify him collecting more evidence to support his claims.

The man that left the back door of the mairie, meticulously checked the lock, clung to the lapels of his frock coat and fled into the darkness of the open road, was not Monsieur Madeleine. Of this Javert was certain, his stake in the matter was high enough that he would swear in court before witnesses that this was Jean Valjean.

Javert was sharp and quick-witted, despite his size and notorious features he could slip along behind Valjean without being noticed. Ducking into alleys and sliding behind walls, Javert felt in his element, the prey was being duly hunted, and so he stalked with pride.

Valjean walked for a mile at least, and Javert might have walked twice that distance as he mainly walked back and forth across the street from hiding place to hiding place rather than as the crow flies. He smelled the humidity of the night air, heard the rubbing of cricket legs, saw the criminal before him skulk through the darkness, and felt supremely alive as all his senses burned with the chase.

The lights of the next town over were dim except for the odd candle that quietly burned in the alcove of a window, but Valjean did not head for the light. Rather he approached a single storey house that stood on the outskirts. Javert stood from a vantage point on a slope and watched as Valjean rapped twice on the door, waited for all of ten seconds, and was then welcomed in. Javert strained to catch a glimpse of this second figure, but he saw little other than a shadowed face. He waited, patient, still, until Valjean emerged some two hours later.

He was unchanged, yet smiling, a small smile, gentle in its execution. This smile was just another piece of evidence Javert added to his mounting mental file of the mayor's criminal activity. He followed Valjean back to Montreuil, taking much satisfaction in the thrill of the hidden chase, before watching the man retire to his chambers.

Surely this house in the town would be a criminal hide out, an illegal gambling hovel, an unlicensed brothel, a place for cock-fighting even!

Javert let his lips slide back to reveal the teeth of a wolfish grin. He had it all now. The mayor was so tiny in the palm of his hand and soon he would clench his fist to crush him. Such joy was to be had in closing Valjean in his trap.

The next day, after he had finished his daily patrol, he released a horse from the stable and rode to the town. The house was easy to find, despite being plain, it was clear from where he had stood on the hill that night.

He smoothed his uniform down, tightened the ribbon in his hair and assumed the expression of authority that granted him entry to wherever he pleased. He knocked abruptly. There was no answer. He knocked again. Still nothing, and despite his patience Javert was now gritting his teeth in irritation. He moved to the window, was confronted with curtains, and it was the same with the other two panes of glass. For Javert this seemed to confirm his suspicions even more.

He rode to the town hall, thrust his papers on the closest desk and demanded to see an official. A man emerged, uniform askew and rubbing his eyes, he looked warily at Javert but agreed to admit him to his office.

"I wish to know who owns the house by your wall, this one here," He said, pointing to the map of the town layout that the official had graciously laid across his desk.

"No one," The official replied. "It is empty."

Javert frowned. The man had answered too fast, surely he could not know for certain which houses in the town were empty and which occupied. "Then you will not object to me looking around. I have reason to suspect criminal activity is occurring there."

The official raised a laconic eyebrow, but merely shrugged. "Of course."

Javert followed in his footsteps back to the outskirts of the town and waiting as the man unlocked the door. He fidgeted, flexing his fingers, unsure what he would find inside but certain it would make everything clear.

Javert refused to let his heart sink, he would not be so easily affected, but the single empty room was enough to rattle his mind. It was bare of furniture or furnishings of any kind, no rug on the dusty floorboards, and nothing else besides.

Javert thanked the official for his help then turned on his heel and strode back to his horse. He rode back to Montreuil at great speed with a fury in his head. Next week he would follow the mayor directly inside, he make sure his pistol and sword were holstered, and he would personally put a stop to the criminal dealings inside.

The week moved slowly, Javert was itching to take the mayor by his shoulders every time he saw him, shake him senseless and growl low and firm in his face. _I know you. I know what you are. I have always known you._ But he kept control of his breathing and steadied himself, returning nods when it was appropriate.

Valjean followed the same path he had taken before, and Javert followed from his safe distance. He waited for Valjean to knock at the door and be accepted before approaching himself. He listened for a moment, but heard no sound within, and so finally his patience at its thinnest he knocked on the door.

The answer was quick. The man who answered was barely more than a boy, young and attractive, fair-haired with long lashes. He was smiling as he opened the door, but upon seeing Javert on the threshold his face dropped and he tried to shut it again. Javert stuck his foot out to prevent him.

The young man opened his mouth, perhaps to scream, but Javert caught that too with a gloved hand.

"Who would you alert with your shout? Your friends? Criminal friends? Do not think I don't know what goes on in here. I do know. I am not a fool, I will not be made into a fool, I know what you all are in here."

The man was shaking his head, colour rising in his cheeks. Noticing the red, Javert relented his hand just a little, but he kept a firm grip of the man's arm.

"Do not make a sound," He said softly, the sound intimidating. "It would not be wise."

Javert waited for a nod then relaxed slightly. "Now, the man who just came in. Who is he?" After a long moment's silence Javert sighed and gazed heavenward. "You may speak."

"I...I do not know, Monsieur."

"Do not lie, I can sense lies."

"It is the truth. None of us know."

Javert was already irritated. He pushed the young man aside and strode into the room, ready to confront the den of thieves. Again he was confronted with an empty room with no occupants. He would have roared in frustration if he thought it would do him any good.

"Where is he?"

The boy stuttered, so Javert stood forward and grasped the front of his shirt. "Tell me," He hissed.

"There is...please, Monsieur, in the floor." He gestured as best he could and Javert caught sight of the smallest crack of light he had neglected to see, and one that certainly wouldn't be visible in the light of day. He released the boy and knelt pressing his fingers to the wood until a panel loosened beneath his palms. He pulled it up revealing the hidden staircase beneath. He frowned, but was distracted at the sound of quick breathing and the occasional sob.

"Why are you whining, boy?"

"They told me it was legal, I thought...please Monsieur, they pay me well and I—"  
"Enough! Who? Who pays you?"

"I am unsure exactly." He was evasive, shifting from foot to foot, and would have likely bolted by now if he wasn't frozen with fear to the floor. Javert reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the familiar weight of the manacles.

"I must detain you for suspicious activity." He approached slowly, wary of the boy lashing back. He was not compliant, but he did not fight. Javert pushed him against the wall, instructed him to stay and was sure that the boy would, then returned to the opening in the floor.

He adjusted his pistol in its halter then descended the stairs. The quiet of the bare upstairs gave way to a fearsome amount of noise. His first thought was animal-baiting perhaps, but the sounds were human, growls, moans, shouts, whispers. Raw and desperate. Javert turned towards them, spurred onward, unsure what he was expecting to see.

It was not the sight he was expecting, then again it was not a sight he could ever have imagined to begin with. He had never dreamed of seeing the mayor on his knees before, yet the sight was familiar to him in some primal way. There he was, cravat loose about his neck, shirt parted, waistcoat open, and despite the silken blindfold that adorned his eyes, Javert could tell it was him. Even with another man's fingers pressing into his cheek and half shielding his face with a bare thigh, Javert could tell. He could tell it was Valjean.

Valjean looked blissful. He turned towards the hand that cradled his face, moaned softly as the fingers stroked his cheek and ghosted up to his temple, and still he leaned in as if thirsting for more. He licked his lips and allowed his jaw to grow slack, and then the man began to press his fingers to Valjean's mouth. Javert watched in a frozen awe, a certain disgust, as Valjean licked each finger that passed through his mouth and then sucked with relish. The sight was enticing, revolting, extremely attractive, and Javert could not stand firm before it.

Valjean let out a moan that was quite frankly beautiful, and above the black silk Javert saw the lines of a frown of pleasure. Javert's own throat made a noise of approval, low and brusk, but it was enough to draw the attention of those around him.

"Haven't seen you before," A man remarked, casting his gaze up and down Javert's form. Javert glanced back, knowing he couldn't speak for the game would be up, then again Valjean seemed perfectly distracted. He noticed the relaxed repose of the man who had spoken, his loose cravat, the way an erect cock rested in his palm. Javert nodded for it was all he could do, he couldn't simply stare at that cock, or any of the other cocks that he suddenly noticed were everywhere. He swallowed, and turned back to Valjean. Valjean himself was unmistakeably hard beneath his trousers, but still he dutifully sucked the fingers in his mouth with his hands obediently by his side.

Javert couldn't take his eyes off him, Valjean was a magnet for the sin hidden beneath his great coat. He was vaguely aware of similar acts in his periphery, but Valjean stole the show, and seemingly not just for Javert. He was knelt in the centre of the floor, the subject of attention, and rightly so. The fingers were removed and Valjean's cheeks hollowed, he moaned from the loss and leaned forward as if knowing what would come next. Sure enough a hard and flushed cock was pressed to Valjean's lips and he moved quickly to accommodate it.

It was strange to watch and Javert ached to touch himself, if only to quickly quell his uncomfortable arousal. Valjean sucked perfectly, swallowing around the cock in his mouth with a great desperation. A hand smoothed through his hair, stroking the soft curls and slipping down to cup his cheek. There were murmurs of approval from all round, sweet intakes of breath, and when the man reached his climax Valjean stayed in place to swallow it all.

Javert knew he had to leave. He couldn't stay in this place of utter depravity and witness a scene he wasn't entirely sure was real. Surely his addled mind was placing tricks on him, making him out to be a fool, and he would have none of that. He pushed his way to the stairs, climbed two at a time, ignored the boy who still wore his manacles and headed out into the night. He breathed heavily, gazing at the black sky for some form of reassurance and found none.

The walk back was uncomfortable, it chafed and burned and reminded him of the sight of the mayor on his knees before a group of lustful men. His sheets were not cold enough to dispel any of the heat, and so he lay for a few minutes in stillness with his palms on top of the covers facing the ceiling, until he gave in. He reached beneath, grasped himself and brought himself to completion, that image still strong in his mind. It was all he could think about, it consumed him.

The week was more painful and slow than the last. He avoided the mayor, avoided Valjean, he would have avoided himself if that were possible. He considered his options, but even after much internal debate he knew what he would do.

The night came, he followed, he stalked, he knocked. The boy blanched as he saw him, but Javert pushed past.

"Monsieur, I kept these for you—"  
But Javert didn't stay to hear the rest, and the clinking of his forgotten manacles followed him into the candlelit basement.

There he was again, looking strangely angelic in the amber glow, his hair pale and his face upturned. There were two others before him this time, both with their cocks out, and Valjean sucked gratefully on one then the other. They praised him while he worked, touched his cheeks with careful palms and stroked his hair with tenderness.

Javert waited. He waited until turns were finished and men were satisfied before stepping forward. He unbuttoned his coat and let it fall to the floor, then undid his trousers. Valjean was already gasping and sensing for the next cock he could suck and he would do so willingly. Javert held his breath and stepped forward. He would take this from Valjean, it would be allowed, it would be appropriate. He was not a man to seek revenge or skirt justice, but this would be fair. He would force Valjean to take him and something could be resolved, even if the man would never know it was him from behind that blindfold.

Valjean reached out, sensing someone standing before him, his palm glanced over Javert's thigh then squeezed tight to pull him closer. Javert stood firm, determined not to stumble. He reached down to rest his hand on Valjean's hair then took advantage of Valjean's open and searching mouth to thrust in.

Valjean choked audibly, unused to the sudden aggression, but Javert would not treat him with a gentle palm. That seemingly lily-white skin had felt the taste of the lash and was not so pure. Javert reached to hold the base of his cock and steadied Valjean by the hair, his fist curled and tightened and Valjean let out a whimper of pain. This was satisfying for Javert and he jerked forward. Again Valjean choked, gagging on Javert's cock. He frowned behind the blindfold and Javert could see him trying his best to suck and lick with an intense fervour, but the hand holding him was harsh and firm.

This was clearly not the treatment he was used to. Indeed he seemed to be listening out for the usual praise and soft touch. Javert would not give him that. Javert would hold him as rough as he deserved and not deign to call him good or give him thanks or tell him well done.

The sight of Valjean's lips wrapped around his cock while he thrust deep without relenting was enough to send him over fairly quickly. His fist tightened on Valjean's hair and his other hand reached round to grip the back of Valjean's neck. He heard a choked sob, but the man was practically gagged so the sound was lost to the room. He came hard and Valjean swallowed it all, dutiful as always. He panted, hearing his own breathing in the silence, slipping out of Valjean's swollen lips and hearing the other man's heavy breathing join his own.

Valjean's brow was furrowed, his expression one of confusion laced with a little hurt. Javert wondered if he had ruined the chances of Valjean ever returning to this place. It was evident that he came here for the praises and soft touches and Javert had gripped his neck and greeted his efforts with silence.

He took a step back, fastened his trousers and picked his coat up from the floor, buttoning it quickly and hastening up the stairs. He didn't want to be seen when Valjean took the blindfold off.

The cool air did nothing to soothe his burning cheeks or quell the sordid images in his mind. He would not return next week. He had faith that Valjean would be arrested and safely back in the bagne or awaiting execution by the time next week rolled around. Still, he had taken his fill. He was still breathing heavily, his heart thumping, but he was satisfied, by God was he satisfied.


End file.
